What's up Doc?
by Disasteriffic Kaz
Summary: The brothers Winchester investigate an old West Fort and find more than they bargained for. Takes place directly after s1e09 "Home" hurt!sam hurt!dean and a supernatural can of whoop-ass. COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** What's up Doc?

**Author**: Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** Takes place directly after s1e09 "Home" Some hurt!sam with a sprinkling of hurt!dean, could be some limp action, don't know, not done writing it yet. It's like a surprise I'm giving myself…that may just be the insomnia talking.

**Author's note:** Pretty sure I spent more time trying to think of a title for this one than I did writing the first twenty pages. If the story wanders, well…for once I didn't have a clear idea in my head when I started writing it. Hopefully my train wont derail too often as I go. Also, the Fort was a real place, did research and everything and then…I coopted it and made it supernatural worthy. Heh.

**Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P**

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_**CHAPTER 1**_

The comforting growl of the Impala's engine rumbled through the seats as it sped down the dark highway. Dean Winchester glanced over at his younger brother and smirked. Sam was sound asleep, head resting against the window.

"Some things never change." Dean said softly. Even as a child, the sound of the Impala's engine could lull Sam to sleep when nothing else worked. He remembered when Sam had been plagued by nightmares, crawling into his big brothers bed and Dean would carry him out to the car, turn on the engine and watch his little brother fall peacefully back to sleep.

He shook his head and frowned. The image of their mothers' ghost stood stark in his mind. Part of him still refused to believe it had happened. Part of him wished he'd never let Sam talk him into returning to that house while the rest of him savored that last moment with his mom and the smile he'd almost forgotten.

Dean brushed a tear from his eyes and looked over again; glad Sam wasn't awake to see his moment of weakness. He wondered for the hundredth time how their Dad could have ignored his call. That damn house had almost killed Sam a second time and once again, Dad had left Dean to protect him.

Dean squared his shoulders in the seat, sitting up taller. That was fine with him. Protecting Sammy was his job and one he wouldn't trust anyone else with, not even their Dad.

Sam stirred beside him and rolled his head away from the window, stretching his arms over his head.

"How long have I been asleep?" Sam asked, rubbing sleepily at his eyes and pushed himself up in the seat.

"Few hours. I know how you need your beauty sleep." Dean grinned and took his phone out of his pocket, handing it to Sam. "We've got new coordinates."

"Did Dad say anything?" Sam asked.

"Dude, he didn't call. Just sent those so get out the map." Dean said shortly. The disappointment on Sam's face reflected what he felt himself.

Sam opened his mouth, looked over at Dean and then closed it. Dean thought he hid it but Sam could see he was still upset, still of his game since their visit home less than two days earlier. He rubbed a hand over his bruised throat and could still feel the cord wrapping itself around his neck, his air being choked off. It still hurt.

"Hey." Dean elbowed his shoulder. "Map."

"I'm working on it." Sam shot back but was grateful for the distraction. He didn't look over but knew Dean was still watching him. He dug the map out of the glove box and the flashlight and busied himself finding where Dad was sending them this time. Sam itched with the need to find him. He wanted so badly to talk to his Dad, to tell him about Jess and even more important to ask him why. Why Jess had died. Why Mom? Sam was sure their Dad knew much more than he was telling, not that he was telling them much of anything.

"You gonna read that map or scrunch it into a ball?" Dean asked and Sam looked down to see he'd crumpled part of the map in his fist. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Sam said absently and bent to the map. Dean didn't push, probably guessing what he'd been thinking about. "It's in Kansas." Sam said and Dean cursed, slowing the car and making a quick U-turn on the vacant road. "Looks like an old Fort of some kind. Fort Atkinson."

"Ghosts?" Dean suggested. "Most likely suspects."

"Maybe." Sam folded away the map. "I'll have to research it when we stop."

"Speaking of…mah baby needs go juice." Dean patted the dash fondly, making Sam roll his eyes and laugh. "Huh." Dean nodded ahead. "That station was closed when we passed it the first time." He shrugged and angled the car across the road, headlights illuminating the dilapidated pumps as they rolled to a stop beside them.

"I'm gonna grab some water." Sam got out as Dean did.

"See if they have pie." Dean grinned over the roof at Sam.

Sam laughed. "Any pie I find in there you're not going to want." He said and left Dean arguing with the pump.

The gas station door creaked loudly as Sam pushed it open. Inside the station, flickering fluorescent lights shone on mostly empty shelves and a cooler filled with soda and water. At the counter by the door, the lone attendant stood, watching silently as Sam pulled two water bottles out and grimaced. It wasn't turned on and the water was warm.

"Great." Sam groaned and then froze, eyes widening. "His breath had puffed out in a cloud of cold vapor. Slowly, he turned to look back. The attendant was still where Sam had first seen him, behind the counter, tall and pale, grimy coveralls and now that Sam looked closely, a stain of blood low on his right side. "Oh crap."

The man flickered like a stutter in an old film reel, in and out of focus and Sam acted. He turned to run for the door and felt as though someone dug a shoulder into his sternum and threw him backwards as the lights went dark.

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"What the crap?" Dean kicked the pump. Despite numerous curses and threats, it stubbornly refused to pump any actual gas. "Oh that's it. I'm gonna…" His voice trailed off as the light above him winked out. "Huh?" He turned around and saw the lights in the station flicker off as well and bolted for the door as he heard a crash from inside.

"Sam!" He yelled. Dean attacked the door, pushing hard and found it locked. Inside, he heard a cry from his brother and growled, drawing his leg back to kick in the door.

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Sam crashed into the glass cooler doors and hit the floor in a shower of bottles, cans and glass. The ghost appeared in front of him and thrust a hand into Sam's chest. He cried out as the icy cold fingers slid past his ribs. He rolled his head and saw several round containers of salt on the near shelf. Dean's voice and an impact on the door spurred him to move. He threw himself to the side, scooping one of the cans from the shelf as the attendant bent over him again. Sam ripped the top open and flung salt into its face.

The spirit dissipated as the door to the station crashed inward. Dean rushed inside, gun drawn and went quickly to Sam, laying on the floor and clutching his chest as he heaved for air.

"Sammy?"

"Ghost." Sam gasped as Dean took his arm and pulled him up. "The attendant. He's dead. Dean!" Sam warned and pointed behind his brothers head. Dean turned, knowing he was going to be too slow as his finger squeezed on the trigger and felt ice cold hands take hold of his arms and lift him, tossing him away into the shelves and they collapsed beneath him. He grunted with the impact, his head spinning and could only watch as the ghost stalked closer and closer.

Sam scooped the salt canister from the floor, an idea in his head and sprinted for the counter. He jumped, sliding across the top and landed on the other side. He sighed sadly, finding what he'd expected. Stretched in the space behind the counter lay a skeleton still clad in grimy coveralls. Sam upended the salt, covering the remains and grabbed a book of matches from the shelf by the window.

Dean brought his gun up to face the ghost and scowled with it wasn't there. He watched Sam run to the counter and gasped when the ghost reappeared beside him, hands reaching for his chest. He brought the gun around as a hand thrust through his chest, making him wheeze a breath and throw his head back as his heart was squeezed.

The ghost attendant screamed suddenly and vanished in a flare of fiery light. Dean heaved in ragged breaths and looked over to see Sam standing over an open fire. "Sammy." Dean managed, pushing himself to his elbows in the wreckage of the shelves. Sam hopped the counter again and knelt by him.

"It's Sam." He smiled and helped Dean back to his feet. "Poor guy must have been killed during a robbery or something months ago and no one ever noticed."

"A haunted gas station. What were the frakkin odds? Why us?" Dean groaned, rubbing his chest and saw Sam doing the same. "You okay?"

"Think so." Sam ran a hand down the back of his dark head that came away spotted with blood.

"Lemme see." Dean stepped around him as he grumbled about being fine to look for himself. Sam hissed and hunched as Dean felt around the back of his head. "Not that I can see under this shaggy mop of yours but there's nothin' serious. Take more than that to crack your egg head." Dean pronounced. "Good job on the crispy corpse by the way. Come on." He lightly slapped the back of Sam's head, grinning when Sam yelped in protest. "Suck it up, princess."

"You know, I could have left you on the floor with Caspar the handsy ghost." Sam muttered and followed Dean outside as the flames burned slowly down behind them.

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The next gas station they'd stopped at had been big, well lit, busy and ghost free. Dean sat now at the table in their motel room with a lustful expression as he gazed down at the homemade apple pie he'd found at the gas station. Sam shook his head with an amused smile and went back to his laptop. He sat comfortably against the green headboard, legs stretched out on the firm bed. The room was papered in lime green and he'd caught himself following the diamond patterns in the rug with his eyes. That was before he'd found the articles on Fort Atkinson.

It had been the first army fort constructed on the Sante Fe Trail in 1851, put there to protect travellers and mail coaches from the Indians. More and larger forts were built in better locations and the relatively small Atkinson was out of service four short years later. It was left alone and fell into ruin until the eighties when it had been taken up as a historical site and renovations started. It became a tourist stop and favorite spot of relic hunters but that didn't last long either. People were prone to accidents within the diamond shaped walls; falling through floors, picking up odd coughs and one pour soul crushed when a sod wall collapsed on him. They closed it down but the accidents continued with relic hunters and the odd ghost hunter making frantic calls for help over the years. Sam ran a hand through his hair, wincing at the cuts and bumps on his head and sighed.

"This fort has racked up an impressive body count over the years." Sam commented and rattled off what he'd learned to Dean.

"So." Dean paused with a fork full of pie. "We talking bad Indian mojo here?"

"Could be." Sam shrugged. "The Fort was only in use for four years though, didn't see much action from what I can tell." He scrolled down the page he'd found, written by a relic hunter, for any useful information on why Dad would send them there.

"Has to be something hinky going on for Dad to send us here." Dean said, echoing Sam's thought and polished off the last of his pie.

"Hey, the guy who made this site, he lives near here." Sam jotted down the address and closed the laptop. "We should go see if he knows more than he's posted." Sam glanced at his watch. "Sleep first." It was five in the morning, they'd driven all night and his head was pounding a tattoo against his eyes.

"How much beauty sleep you need in a night?" Dean chuckled but didn't argue. He could see in Sam's face that he was in pain and in true Winchester fashion was keeping it to himself.

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Sam groaned awake and startled to find Dean leaning over him.

"First, you need to take these." Dean held out a bottle of aspirin and a glass of water. "Second, whatever crazy crap you got going on in there giving you nightmares, you need to deal with it." Dean left him to take the pills and finished toweling off his hair. He'd turned off the shower only to hear Sam calling out in his sleep again. The nightmares frustrated him because dammit how was he supposed to protect his little brother from his own head?

"I'm fine, Dean." Sam said, as he had so many times before but he did shake out two aspirin and take them. His head was splitting and the glare of midday sun around the heavy curtains was making his eyes water.

"Uh huh." Dean tossed his duffel up on the bed and started pulling out clothes. "Shower fast. I'm hungry."

Sam snorted and rolled out of bed, rubbing the back of his head. "World could be ending and you'd still want food."

"What's wrong with that?" Dean grinned as Sam shut the bathroom door on him.

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_Tbc… _


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** What's up Doc?

**Author**: Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** Takes place directly after s1e09 "Home" Some hurt!sam with a sprinkling of hurt!dean, could be some limp action, don't know, not done writing it yet. It's like a surprise I'm giving myself…that may just be the insomnia talking.

**Author's note:** Pretty sure I spent more time trying to think of a title for this one than I did writing the first twenty pages. If the story wanders, well…for once I didn't have a clear idea in my head when I started writing it. Hopefully my train wont derail too often as I go. Also, the Fort was a real place, did research and everything and then…I coopted it and made it supernatural worthy. Heh.

**Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P**

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_**CHAPTER 2**_

"This doesn't look good." Sam pointed to flyers stapled to the fence they walked beside. They were 'Missing' posters. "That's Russel Toomey."

"The geek we're going to see?" Dean threw his arms up. "Well that's just awesome."

"Here. This is the address." Sam turned into a well-tended yard and saw a curtain twitch to the side and back as they approached. He was just reaching out to knock as the door opened. An older woman looked up at them. Graying hair hung over her sad face as she peered hopefully at them.

"Are you Detectives? Have you found my boy?" She asked in a watery voice.

Dean dug in his pocket and came out with his fake FBI badge, flashing it at her. "I'm sorry, Ma'am. We haven't found him."

"We need to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind." Sam said in a comforting tone, touched by the pain on this poor mothers' face.

She seemed to deflate as they watched and hung on to the door as if it was the only thing holding her up.

"Ma'am. How long has Russel been missing?" Dean asked and she sighed.

"Five days now." She straightened her dress nervously. "Russ was talking nonsense before he left about that Fort he's always digging around." She smiled sadly up at Dean. "Well, more nonsense than normal. He was saying how there was something going on at that fort and the cops had no clue. That people had gone missing and they didn't know." She wiped a tear from her eye. "I should have listened."

"Did Russel say what he meant?" Sam asked softly and she shook her head.

"No. Just that he was going to check it out and that when he had proof he'd be famous." She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket, covering her face. "I'm sorry. That's all I know." She stepped back and closed the door on a sob.

"Okay, now I think I get why Dad wanted us here." Dean tucked his badge away as they left. "We need to get out to that Fort."

"Russel's right. If people _are_ going missing out there, they're not being missed." Sam leaned on the Impala's roof as they reached it. "How do people vanish and no one notices?"

"Yeah and what did this kid find that got him all hot to go back out there?" Dean slid behind the wheel. "I think it's time we paid Fort Atkinson a visit."

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"This was a fort?" Dean pushed the driver side door shut and stood staring at the sod walls in front of them. "Seriously. A fort?" The brown, sod walls of the fort were no more than eight feet high, crumbling in places. The roofs of the few buildings still standing inside peeked over the walls as the sun began to set, bathing everything in an orange glow.

Sam chuckled. "Hey man, it was the 1800's. What do you want?"

"How about walls I can't jump over?" Dean smirked and went to the trunk, opening it and propping the hidden compartment open with a sawed off shotgun. "My money's on ghost." He pulled out salt; shotgun shells filled with rock salt and can of lighter fluid, putting all into the bag he held.

Sam took a silver knife from its clip and a flask of holy water, shotgun and loaded one of his pockets with more salt shells. "Let's not jump to conclusions. We don't know what the hell's going on in there."

"Well let's find out." Dean slammed the trunk shut and grinned.

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Fort Atkinson was eerily quiet as they walked beneath the gate. Dean gave a little jump and slapped the rolled timber overhead. "Wouldn't keep out a raccoon." He commented and Sam shook his head with a laugh. Inside the fort was a large open space. Several buildings surrounded it and the walls of the fort sat behind them. At the far end of the oblong diamond stood the largest building, a two story affair that Sam knew from his research held the Commander's office and infirmary.

"Hey." Dean nudged Sam's elbow and pointed. A beat up little motorcycle stood leaning against the side of the old jail to their left under the overhang of the roof. Sam strode to the bike while Dean raised his shotgun and headed for the Jail's door. He gave Sam a look and a nod and vanished inside. Sam easily translated the look to say 'I'm gonna clear the building. You check the bike and watch my back.' They had always had a gift for having whole conversations with just a glance, something that hadn't changed with Sam's time away at college.

Sam flipped open the saddlebag on the back of the bike. Inside was a bottle of water, a college ID with Russel Toomey's name and picture and a thick folder. This Sam pulled out but rather than look, he tucked it in the back of his jeans and went for the jail door, gun raised.

"Dean?" Sam called as he stepped from the late afternoon heat into the smothering stuffiness of the Jail. Sweat sprang out on his body. The sun streamed through the west facing windows, highlighting waves of dust as he moved through the empty room. There were two doors, one on either side leading to the back of the building and Sam heard nothing. "Dean?"

He moved quickly to the door on his right and led his way through with his gun, nerves on edge at the silence. It was one long room. He could see the other door from where he stood. Three cells lined the wall and Sam sprinted to the center cell. Dean lay sprawled inside on his back, shotgun on the floor beside him.

"Dean!" Sam pulled on the door and growled when it rattled, locked. "Dammit." He searched both rooms quickly but found no sign of a key. Sam knelt by the lock, staring at the gentle rise and fall of his brothers chest as he dug out his lockpicks. "Hang on, Dean."

He slid the picks into the lock and kept glancing about him, wary of attack. Whatever had taken down Dean had done so quickly and silently. He irritably wiped sweat sodden hair out of his eyes and resisted the urge to beat the lock. "Come on. Open." He gave a relieved sob when he heard the tumblers click into place and tore the door open, scrambling to Dean's side.

"Dean?" There was a growing welt high on his forehead over his right eye and as Sam picked his head up gently he felt warm, wet blood in his hair. "Dean." Sam got his head and shoulders into his arms and gave him a shake. "Come on, big brother. Wake up, please?" Every moment Dean didn't wake drove panic deeper into his heart. "Wake up, Dean!" Sam adopted the stern tone their Dad used to use when, as boys, they'd oversleep as kids. "Get your lazy ass out of bed. Wake up! Now!"

Sam closed his eyes, dizzy with relief when Dean finally stirred and moaned softly. "That's it, Dean. Open your eyes."

"Guh…" Dean's eyes blinked open one at a time. Sam swallowed past the lump in his throat. The sun coming in through the high window onto Dean's face made it clear his pupils weren't reacting the way they should. "Sammy?" Dean scrunched his eyes closed, raising a shaking hand to his head. "Wha…"

"I don't know but we're outta here." Sam sat Dean up slowly.

"Whoa…wai…stop." Dean moaned and Sam held him still while Dean went through several shades of green, panting until the nausea passed. "Ok."

Sam scooped Dean's gun from the floor and pressed it into his hands. "Hold on to this." Sam wrapped his arms around Dean's chest and slowly pulled him to his feet. Dean swayed into Sam, his legs threatening to buckle and locked his knees to stay upright.

"Holy crap." Dean groaned, head spinning and was thankful for Sam's steady arms keeping him standing.

"Ok. Here we go. Help me out here." Sam urged Dean into a walk, slowly, carefully. He had his own shotgun firmly in hand, senses alert for whatever had attacked Dean but he wasn't taking any chances.

As they gained the open air again, both brothers jumped. In the building behind them, the cell doors slammed open and closed, clanging loudly in the silence of the Fort.

"I win." Dean said, smiling drunkenly. "Told ya…was a ghost."

Sam snorted and guided his brother back toward the gate as the sky darkened to dusk. As they passed beneath it with the comforting shape of the Impala beyond, it rattled. The gate above them shook. Sam all but carried Dean in a rush the last few feet to safety and it crashed to the ground behind them.

"Starting to get the feeling…we're not wanted." Dean said and gave a shaky laugh.

Sam said nothing, still consumed with worry. He poured Dean into the backseat so he could lay down and then floored it back to town. The fact that Dean said nothing about abusing his baby didn't help Sam's state of mind. A glance in the rearview mirror showed Dean's eyes closed, head lolling and Sam put the gas to the floor.

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"Your brother's going to be fine." The Doctor, who didn't look near old enough to _be_ a Doctor, smiled up at Sam. "He's very lucky to have avoided a skull fracture." The clinic was small but thankfully boasted a portable X-ray.

"Can I see him?" Sam asked and the Doctor nodded.

"Of course. He'll be in and out for a while yet and we'll need to monitor him closely for the next twelve hours but the scans so far are clear." He pushed open a room door and waved Sam in.

"Thanks." Sam smiled and went quickly inside and to the bed. Dean lay pale and still. Sam took his hand and smiled wider as green eyes blinked up at him.

"Dude. You're holding my hand." Dean snickered. His head rolled slowly to the side and he was out again.

"Yep." Sam nodded and gave Dean's hand a comforting pat before pulling over a chair to sit watch on his big brother for a change.

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"Give me…the keys." Dean said again, dangerously and glared at Sam. "Little brother I _will_ hurt you."

Sam chuckled and got in the driver's seat of the Impala. "You can hurt me all you want once your eyes stop crossing. You're concussed. You're not driving."

"Son of a…" Dean kicked the ground and held on to his pounding head; in no way happy that he knew Sam was right. He walked around to the passenger side and got in, glaring daggers at Sam. "You got my baby dirty. How fast were you going?"

Sam revved the engine and eased out of the clinic parking lot. He stared ahead, humor forgotten. "Fast enough to save your life." He said softly.

Dean opened his mouth and then closed it in surprise. "Well hell." He said finally. He had certainly risked life, limb and vehicular damage to save Sam in the past. Hard to be mad at the kid for having done it for him but… "You ever scratch my baby, even to save me…and I'll kill you."

This time Sam laughed. "Always know where your priorities lay."

"Where we going?" Dean asked, shifting his head around to find a comfortable position and failing.

"Motel. No more ghostbusting for you til that concussion's under control." Sam gave him a steely look Dean was used to seeing on his own face.

"Whatever man. Just get me back in one piece so we can go gank that thing." Dean smiled and closed his eyes. Though he tried, he still could not remember what had happened in the jail. His last clear memory was of walking under the gate with Sam and nothing else until Sam had woken him in the cell. That more than anything was making him uncomfortable. He didn't mind that he'd been knocked around but he liked to know the who and the how. The hole in his memory was just plain weird, never mind the Doctor said it was normal. It sucked.

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Russel Toomey screamed. He screamed again and again and begged for it to stop. He wished he had never come back to the fort. What he'd found he still couldn't believe, even as he watched it stalk toward him again, twisted grin on its ethereal face. It was dead, this man that was hurting him. He knew it and argued with himself about it round and round in his head and when the dead thing reached for him again, he screamed again and called for his mother.

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_To be continued…stay tuned. Same bat time. Same bat channel._


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** What's up Doc?

**Author:** Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** Takes place directly after s1e09 "Home" Some hurt!sam with a sprinkling of hurt!dean, could be some limp action, don't know, not done writing it yet. It's like a surprise I'm giving myself…that may just be the insomnia talking.

**Author's note:** So, I have a general idea now where I'm going with this! Miracles do happen. Story's still evolving though so…bear with me. XD

**Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P**

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**CHAPTER 3**

Sam jerked awake where he'd dozed off at the table, head propped in his hand over his laptop. "Dean." His brother was tossing in his bed and moaning. Sam went quickly to his side, sat down and took hold of the arms Dean had started flailing. "Dean, wake up." His skin was warm beneath Sam's hand and he frowned.

Dean thrashed in his fevered dream, feeling his arms held and he fought for consciousness. He heard his little brothers voice and held on to it, climbing out of his dream. He forced his eyes open on a groan and found Sam's worried, hazel eyes staring down at him.

"Sammy." Dean said in a rough voice. "You can let go." He tried a smile and though Sam returned it, it didn't reach the worry on his face.

Sam let him go and set a hand on Dean's forehead. "How's your head feel?"

"Hurts." Dean muttered and batted at his brothers hand like a child. "Gerroff."

Sam snickered. "You've got a fever. Hang on." He went to the bathroom for a glass of water and dug Tylenol out of his bag before going back to the bed. Dean had both hands wrapped round his head, eyes shut tight and grimaced when the bed moved.

"Come on, man. Take these." Sam watched him crack an eye and try to raise his head.

"Crap." Dean breathed, Try as he might he couldn't seem to get his head off the pillow. It felt as though something was rattling in his skull. Sam's arm slipped behind his shoulder and Dean inwardly cursed his own weakness as Sam raised him slowly up. He fumbled the pills into his mouth and gulped greedily at the cool water Sam held for him.

"Whoa. Take it easy." Sam tipped the glass back. Dean's weakened state was jangling his nerves. It was so rare to see Dean unable to care for himself. "Slowly Dean. You don't wanna choke right now."

Dean nodded, closing his eyes and sighed wearily as Sam laid him back. "Remembered." He said finally.

"Huh?" Sam set the glass aside and watched Dean rub his head.

"The Jail. I remember." Dean had been dreaming it when Sam woke him and he'd never tell him how grateful he was for being pulled out of that helpless nightmare. "There was…something in the cell…on the floor." Dean squeezed his eyes shut. "Couldn't see what it was. I stepped in and the air froze." He remembered his breath puffing out in a cold vapor despite the oppressive heat. "There was something behind me." He'd turned as the cell door slammed shut. He'd opened his mouth to call for Sam when something struck the back of his head and pitched him head first into the bars. He reached up and felt the lump on his forehead. "Son of a bitch."

"Definitely a ghost then." Sam nodded. He went to the table, grabbing Russel's file and went back to Dean. "Russel found a stash of personal effects at the fort, buried shallow in the graveyard inside the fort."

"There's a freakin graveyard?" Dean said, surprised.

"Yeah." Sam opened the folder and pulled over a handful of ID's. "According to his notes Russel thinks these guys were all transients, probably looking for somewhere to sleep."

Dean took the ID's, forcing his eyes to focus and leafed through them eyebrows rising. "Maybe it's just me but these guys all have something else in common."

"What?" Sam took them back from Dean, looking through them again.

"They're all tall." Dean said, rolling carefully to his side. "And they all have dark hair." He elbowed Sam's hip. "Like you, Sasquatch." The truth of that comment dropped into Dean's brain like a stone and shocked the cobwebs loose. He lurched upright and swayed, taking hold of Sam's shoulder as he steadied him. "Shit, Sammy." Dean groaned. "They look like you!"

"Hey, ok. Ok, Dean. Calm down." Sam soothed, watching Dean's eyes cross. "Lay back down."

"Don't." Dean glared at his brother. "Don't you go back there without me."

Sam laughed. "Take it easy." He pried Dean's hands from his shoulders. "I'm not that stupid."

Dean snorted, letting Sam push him back down to the bed. "Are too."

"Jerk." Sam tugged the sheet up over his big brother, watching as he drifted back to sleep. He ran a hand over Dean's face, smiling when he felt the cooler skin and laughing at the muttered 'bitch' as Dean drifted off.

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Dean rolled to his back, eyes closed as he woke and smiled when his head didn't scream at him. "Oh thank god." He breathed and opened groggy eyes to the dimly lit motel room. "Sammy?" He called and then groaned. He could hear the shower running. "Damn I gotta pee." He pushed himself upright, swung his legs over the side of the bed to the floor and grinned when the room didn't spin. His head was sore but stayed in one piece as he stood. He walked carefully to the bathroom door and banged on it.

"Sammy! I need the can, man! Hurry up!" When Sam didn't answer he shrugged and turned the knob. It was locked. He banged louder. "Sam!" Still his little brother didn't answer and the hair on his neck stood on end. "Sam? Sammy?"

Dean tried the knob again, confused and now worried. "What the hell, Sam?" He saw Sam's jeans tossed on the end of his bed and dug his brothers' lockpicks out of the backpocket. "You better not be screwing with me, little brother." Dean growled and easily picked the lock, pushing it open. He'd expected a cloud of steam but there was none. Dean went to the running shower, grasping the curtain.

"Sam?" When there was no answer, he sighed, prepared to see his naked brother and yanked it open. It was empty. The water that sprayed his face was long gone cold. Fear gripped his chest, squeezing tight. Dean looked at the bathroom now, really looked. Sam's socks were on the floor, caked with red dirt from the Fort. Beside them were several footprints in the same red earth. Dean's eyes narrowed as he looked. They were too small for his brother. He dragged his gaze up to the open door and slapped a hand on the wall, dizzy with fear. A spatter of blood sprayed up the wall beside the door. Sam's blood.

"Son of a bitch. Sammy."

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Sam came awake slowly, a moan of pain escaping his parched lips. It was hot, stuffy, the air feeling as though he could cut it. He forced his eyes open to darkness. "Dean?" He called softly in a voice that cracked and groaned as the back of his neck made itself known. He reached a hand back to the base of his skull and found hair matted with blood. In that moment, he remembered what had happened.

He'd stripped off his jeans, in need of a shower to wash off the dirt still clinging to him from their foray into the Fort. Dean had been sleeping peacefully when he'd shut the bathroom door. Sam peeled his socks off, leaving them on the floor. He pulled the curtain and turned the shower on, sighing happily as steam began to fill the bathroom. He'd taken hold of his tee-shirt to pull it off and froze. The dirt that caked his socks was slowly swirling up from the floor as if alive. Sam stood in his boxer briefs and shirt and knew he had to protect Dean. He dashed through the floating cloud of dust and cursed as he heard the lock on the door snick shut as he reached for the handle. There was the sound of a breath behind him and then pain exploded in his head.

Sam gasped, pushing himself up from the rough, earthen floor beneath his cheek. "Not good." He muttered. Somehow, the ghost from Fort Atkinson had been able to invade their motel room, subdue Sam and take him. He remembered the red dirt swirling through the air and frowned. "Damn." He said then. The spirit must have some connection with the earth of the fort. The bathroom door hadn't been salted, why would they with the motel room door and window protected? The earth itself, caked to his clothes and his body must have given the spirit it's entry into the room and to Sam.

He wiped sweat from his face, pushing hair out of his eyes and panted trying to cool off to no avail. His tee-shirt was stuck to his back with a mixture of sweat and blood. His bare legs he stretched out, toes touching a wall. Sam looked up with bleary eyes and blinked. There was a sliver of light higher up the wall. He crawled over and realized it was a door, not a wall, as he pulled himself shakily to his feet. The heat was making his head spin; his stomach churn.

Sam bent his head to the crack in the door, trying to see where he was and jerked back in surprise when a shadow blocked the light suddenly. He stumbled to his knees, scraping them on the ground and fought not to vomit from the sudden movement.

"Ahhh." A low, soft voice hissed through the door. "My new subject is awake."

Sam pushed to the opposite side of the cell as the door shook and then slowly creaked open. Light streamed in, blinding him with pain as he saw someone stand in the open door, blurry arms reaching for him.

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Dean fought the urge to go charging out to the fort in a rage and search for his brother. He grabbed his cell phone instead and called Bobby. They had found nothing; Sam had found nothing and he was the king geek of research. He needed to know what he was up against.

"Bobby." Dean gripped the phone tight and felt all the calm words slip from his head in favor of panic. "We're in Kansas. Sam's been taken and I need your help." Just saying it aloud swamped him in fear and rage. Dean swallowed it back as Bobby called his name. "Yeah. Yeah I'm here. Bobby. It took him from our damn motel room."

"Okay, Dean. Calm down. We'll figure this out." Bobby's gruff voice soothed Dean as it always did. Bobby shared Dean's fear but kept his head for Dean's sake. "Tell me everything."

Dean told their adoptive Uncle all they'd learned and seen and heard him rummaging through his books over the phone, could picture him going through the cluttered shelves and piles scattered throughout the house looking for an answer and it helped calm him.

"Atkinson." Bobby said, going through a pile of books before moving to another. "I know I've heard that before, read it somewhere." Normally Bobby would have gotten off the phone to search uninterrupted but he could hear Dean's harsh breaths and knew if he hung up, the boy would go tearing off on his own, unprepared. Bobby found the book he was looking for and went back to his desk.

"Bobby." Dean's voice said, anxiety screaming through the single word.

"Keep it together, son." Bobby said kindly and flipped quickly through the book, finding the pages he wanted. "Okay, I knew I recognized that name."

"Sam couldn't find anything." Dean said in frustration.

"You wouldn't. Government closed the Fort down and sanitized the history. They didn't want an Indian uprising on their hands." The book Bobby poured over had been written by a Pawnee chief who'd fought along the Santa Fe trail and known the Fort. Bobby sat back and tried to keep the worry from his voice. "There was an Army surgeon by the name of Lemke. He was there when the fort opened and spent his four years doin' all sorts of experiments on the Indians the soldiers would bring back. He tortured 'em Dean. Now, if this is our spook, and I think it is, that's the good news."

"How in hell is that _good_ news, Bobby?" Dean growled.

"I know it sounds bad, Dean but it means Sam's still alive. This sicko, he'd keep his victims alive for days." Bobby sighed.

"Shit, Bobby. What's the bad news?" Dean braced himself.

"Don't think about it." Bobby replied, deliberately not explaining what Doctor Lemke had done to his victims. "Now, when they closed the Fort, this surgeon got himself hanged for war crimes or some such. They buried him somewhere in the Fort."

"There's a cemetery." Dean told him.

"Could be there then." Bobby nodded. "The Pawnee Indians, they all left the area after the Fort closed. Claimed it was cursed and said some of their warriors would go missing at night. They said the ghost of the surgeon was taking them."

"Like Sam."

"Yeah. Dean." Bobby sat forward. "This is one powerful sum'bitch. You watch yourself. He'll have Sam in the Fort somewhere. You go in in daylight when he's weakest. You hear me, boy?" Bobby waited, listening to the labored breathing, his heart breaking and wishing he was there.

"Yeah, Bobby." Dean said finally. "Thanks."

"You bring our boy home, Dean." Bobby said, voice gruff with worry.

"I will, Bobby. You can bank on it." Dean said fiercely and hung up. He looked to the clock; three thirty in the morning and hours yet to go before dawn. "Hang on, Sammy. I'm coming." He busied himself putting together everything he'd need, watching each minute tick on the clock and suffered with the need to go after his brother but Bobby's voice stopped him. He'd be smart. He'd wait for dawn. He wouldn't do Sam any good if he got himself brained again trying to find him.

He ran out of busy work and sat on the bed. He'd loaded and cleaned their guns, packed salt, holy water, lighter fluid and matches, checked the patented Winchester first aid kit was stocked and shoved that in his bag as well. He'd even added a pair of Sam's jeans, socks and his boots. Sam would need them when he found him; when he saved him and he would.

"Just a little longer, Sammy." Dean said softly, watching the clock tick over to five am. "Hang on, little brother. I'm coming for you."

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_**To be continued…**_


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** What's up Doc?

**Author**: Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** Takes place directly after s1e09 "Home" Some hurt!sam with a sprinkling of hurt!dean, some limp action, This chapter involves some gore and tortuous moments. It's a bit of a Whump-fest.

**Author's note:** So, I have a general idea now where I'm going with this! Miracles do happen. Story's still evolving though so…bear with me. XD

**Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P**

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_**CHAPTER 4**_

Sam's head lolled on his shoulders. It took Herculean effort to raise it and get his eyes open at the same time. His shoulders burned, his arms chained out to the warm stone behind him. He squirmed as a trickle of blood ran down his ribs, itching.

"Awake again? Good. Good." The voice made Sam flinch and pull against his manacled wrists. He opened his eyes finally and was assailed by both revulsion and sorrow. Russel Toomey, the late Russel Toomey's twisted face looked up at him, possessed by the spirit of a long dead sociopath Doctor. The boy was dead already, Sam was sure. The wounds he could see on Toomey left little hope that he was alive in there somewhere.

"Let me go." Sam said, as he'd said before and was rewarded with another manic, pitying smile.

"But we have so much yet to do."

Sam watched his ungainly walk to the table he had learned to hate and shivered in spite of the heat pressing on him. He silently called for Dean, holding on to the sliver of hope that his big brother would save him again before the spirit torturing him moved on to inhabit him.

"Now, where were we?" It asked him conversationally.

"Russel…" Sam pleaded in vain with the dead eyes.

"Dr. Lemke." Russel's face frowned. "If you will insist on speaking to me, you will use my name." The Doctor raised an old scalpel to Sam's bare chest; his shirt had been cut off hours ago and lay in a bloodied lump on the table. Sam gasped as the scalpel bit into his chest. He panted, heaving air in and out as it carved into him. He whimpered in relief when it stopped and then screamed. The Doctor grabbed hold of the freshly cut skin and ripped it from Sam's chest in a long strip.

He patted Sam's head absently like he was a dog. "Well done." He went to his macabre trophy wall and smiled. There were dozens, perhaps hundreds of long flaps of darkened skin stuck to the wall. It was like some crazy patchwork of skin. Most of them were long dried and dessicated but a few, like Sam's as he tacked that up were still fresh or wet with blood.

Sam couldn't help the tears that fell from his eyes. The pain of being skinned was immense. He had an idea what was waiting him from the damage evident on poor Russel's body and he closed his eyes, choking down the fear. The Doctor had explained to him that he must understand what makes the Indian different from the white man, must find better ways to hurt him. Sam had tried to reason with the thing, to explain that the people he was hurting weren't Indians, didn't deserve this even if they were, but the Doctor was too far gone to understand. He prayed silently again for Dean, for his Dad, for anyone to find him. Blood caked his wrists beneath the manacles from his struggles and he pulled again, trying to slip at least one of his hands free, swallowing the moan as the pain shot down his arms.

Sam jerked his head back at the hand suddenly on his chin. Doctor Lemke stared up at him with Russel's foggy eyes, another scalpel in his hand.

"No." Sam pressed his back to the wall trying to get away in vain. The scalpel dug into his chest, slicing along one of his ribs and Sam cried out. The ghost actually smiled up at him briefly, pleased with the sound. Sam struggled for breath past the pain as the Doctor set aside the scalpel and picked up a small chisel and hammer. "No. Please." Sam breathed. He could see down his chest to the now exposed length of rib. "Stop…stop." He cringed back and gave into the scream as the chisel was placed against his rib and the hammer made its first tap-tap. Sam felt his rib chip, crack and mercifully passed out.

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Sam came around again with a gasp when lukewarm water was dumped over his head. "Wake up." Toomey's distorted voice growled. His rotting, fetid breath in Sam's face made his stomach churn and sent new waves of agony through the open wound in his chest. A cold hand slapped his face and Sam groaned, rolling his head away and back against the wall. If he'd had any moisture in his body, he'd have thrown it up happily but he was parched. He greedily licked what littler water he could from his lips.

"Better results if you're awake." Doctor Lemke said with Russel's mouth. "Have skin and bone. Now we need blood." He pinned Sam's left arm to the wall in a steel grip. "Do try and stay awake this time."

Sam's eyes rolled upward as the scalpel flashed toward his arm. Weak dawn light shone through the lone, small window above. "Dean." Sam moaned and cried out at the bite of the blade. It cut across his bicep as the Doctor carefully nicked his Brachial artery. He took a bowl from the floor and held it beneath Sam's arm as the blood pumped in quick spurts.

Sam's head twitched in time to each beat of his heart. He watched the light strengthen in the little window above as his head began to swim with the blood loss. Russel's possessed body set the bowl carefully on the table and looked up once more at Sam's straining face and nodded, pleased his subject was still conscious. He took up the remains of Sam's shirt and tore a strip then tied it tightly around the bleeding wound in his arm. "Wouldn't want you expiring before I'm finished." Sam ground his teeth against the pain and glared down at him.

"When I get out of this, I'm going to kill you." Sam growled it at him. He was tired of the torture and pain and borrowed his brother's ability to piss anyone off, throwing it at the spirit. "You are one sick twist." He spit blood from his split lip into the Doctor's face, watching him jerk back with a smile.

"Stop it." Doctor Lemke wiped the blood from his cheek.

"I'll bet you screamed like a little girl when they finally killed your pathetic ass." Sam grinned at him and grunted at the blow to his stomach. Pain lanced up from his chest, throwing stars across his vision but he ignored them. "This is how you get it up, isn't it?" He tugged and pulled at the manacles holding him while the Doctor seethed with rage in front of him. "Getting off on this aren't you?"

"I said STOP!" The spirit hurled Russel's fist into Sam's face. Sam felt blood gush from his nose as his head rocked back to slap into the stone. "You will…be…silent." Each word was punctuated by a hit to Sam's abused body.

Sam gasped for air like a starving man and made himself speak through it. He needed to keep the psycho distracted. He'd felt his right hand slip, just a little, into the manacle. "Is that all you got? Killing you? Not even gonna be a challenge." He choked on a scream then as the Doctor's hand dug into the wound over his rib. His hand twisted and pushed and scraped along the bone and Sam finally gave in and screamed up at the little window. He screamed for his big brother.

"DEAN!"

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_To be continued shortly..._


	5. Chapter 5

**Title:** What's up Doc?

**Author**: Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** Takes place directly after s1e09 "Home" Some hurt!sam with a sprinkling of hurt!dean, some limp action, This chapter involves some gore and cursing.

**Author's note:** Another short-ish chapter as I work my way through the vague story in my head. Don't hate me! XD

**Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P**

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_**CHAPTER 5**_

Dean spun the Impala to a stop outside the gates of Fort Atkinson in a cloud of dust. The sun was creeping higher in the sky, just edging past eight in the morning. He went quickly to the trunk, pulling out his shotgun and tossing the strap of his bag over his shoulder. He stared at the face of the Fort for a moment, readying himself. "Let's dance." He said softly, fiercely and pumped a salt round into the shotguns chamber as he strode into the Fort in search of his brother.

The heat was already building as the sun slowly rose. Dean had left his jacket in the car, wearing only a Tee-shirt that was already clinging to him in a sheen of sweat. He ignored the smaller buildings and headed for the one he knew housed the Commander's office and surgery at the back of the Fort. He felt drawn to it, his 'Sammy radar' leading him forward.

His senses were alert to every sound, every change in temperature, in air pressure. Dean was not going to let the spook get the drop on him again. He seemed to be in luck; the time of day keeping the mad Doctor's ghost from sensing his intrusion or, and his hands shook with the thought, it was distracted with his little brother.

Dean picked up his pace, jogging the last few yards to the two story building. The aging wooden steps creaked beneath his boots and he froze, waiting to see if he'd given himself away. When nothing happened, he stepped over the last few to the stone doorway and inside. The atmosphere was stuffy and cloying, the morning sunlight coming through the boarded up windows already helping to raise the temperature. Like the Jail, the interior of the building was empty of furniture and most anything else. He tread softly over the flagstone floor toward the door he thought would lead to the surgery.

"DEAN!" Sam's voice screaming his name from somewhere below threw Dean's heart into his throat. It took every ounce of self-control he had not to call out to the despair and pain he heard in his brothers' voice. He dug deep for strength and started methodically searching for a way below.

Several more agonized cries pushed him on faster. Finding nothing he sped back outside and skirted the exterior of the building.

"Screw you!" Sam's voice came again, breathless and more clearly. Dean looked down and saw a small window. He dropped to his knees and peered cautiously in. What he saw froze his heart. Sam was chained to a wall, his chest a red ruin and what he swore was the missing Russel Toomey punched a knife of some sort into Sam's left shoulder as he watched and left it there, quivering sickly.

Dean ground his teeth at Sam's cry and then grinned proudly when his little brother; bleeding, exhausted, in agony told the son of a bitch to kiss his Winchester ass. "That's my boy, Sammy." Dean barely breathed. He shot to his feet and ran, rounding the back of the building. He found the cemetery spread back to the sod wall, dozens and dozens of plain stone markers. To his left was an old cellar door and the rage to protect rose up into his eyes as he tugged the door open.

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Doctor Lemke lurched Russel's decaying body to his table and came back with another scalpel. Rage twisted the face into something horrible as he advanced on Sam.

"If you insist on saying such things, I'll have to make sure you can't." Sam jerked his head away, ignoring his greying vision, when the Doctor reached for his jaw. "Let's have that tongue out." He said on a sick laugh.

"Hey! Doctor Mengele! Get the hell away from my brother!"

"Dean!" Sam shouted and saw, as the spirit turned, his brother standing at the base of stairs he hadn't seen.

"Hey, Sammy." Dean grinned but his eyes were all for Russel's body, rage swimming in his green eyes.

"It's possessed Russel's body!" Sam called and Dean nodded, raising the shotgun.

The Doctor screamed with anger and Dean was tossed aside before he could fire. He crashed into the trophy wall, sliding dazed to the floor in a shower of flaps of dried skin.

"Dean!" Sam yelled. The Doctor was stalking toward his brother, the scalpel in his hand. "No!" Sam found desperation gave him new strength. Russel's back blocked his view of Dean. He gave a massive tug on his right wrist, chest burning and shoulder screaming where the scalpel still stood like an exclamation. Sam's blood slicked hand finally slipped free of the manacle and he did the only thing he could think of.

Sam took hold of the scalpel in his shoulder and ripped it out. Fresh blood poured down his chest, his vision threatening to tunnel in on him. He bore down with an almost feral growl, refusing to pass out and used the knife as Dean had taught him when they were children. He flung the blade through the air and watched as it buried itself in the back of Russel's neck. The spirit screamed, turning back to Sam and gave him what he wanted; a distraction to save his brother.

Dean shook his head, his vision clearing and gave a heartfelt 'ewwww' at the strips of skin covering him. He brushed them off frantically and looked up to see Russel going for Sam once again. "Oh hell no!" Dean ground out. He rescued his shotgun from the floor beside him, aimed and loaded rock salt into the Doctor's borrowed back.

It screamed again, louder as the purifying properties of the salt drove it from its borrowed home. Dean watched as the essence of the spirit poured out of the body, dissipating and leaving the remains of Russel Toomey to collapse in a heap.

"Dean." Sam's voice was hoarse with pain. Dean pulled himself to his feet, knowing their reprieve was only temporary. He went quickly to Sam and caught him as he sagged forward.

"Hey, Sammy. God what'd he do to you?"

Sam moaned and dropped his head to Dean's shoulder. "Get…me out of here."

"I've gotcha, Sammy." Dean let him lean against him and reached up to free his other hand. Warm blood began to soak through his shirt. He tried not to think about how much Sam had lost, how much more he could afford to lose.

"It's Sam…jerk." Sam wheezed through the pain and smirked against Dean's shoulder.

Dean chuckled and ignored him, grateful he was still lucid enough to joke. "Here we go, Sammy." He lowered his little brother to the floor as gently as he could, grimacing in sympathy as Sam paled and gasped. Dean freed his feet and helped stretch his legs out. "We don't have a lot of time here til Dr. Evil comes back online." Dean warned and saw Sam's weak nod. He understood. Still, Dean ran to the door and grabbed up his bag, bringing it back.

"Need to…find his…grave." Sam tried to push himself up only to be held down.

"Stay there for a minute. We'll find it but you need patching up first." Dean scowled at the open wound on Sam's chest, the six inch long swath of exposed muscle where he'd been skinned and his eyes widened as Sam gasped in a deep breath and one of his ribs showed for a moment white through the blood. "Shit."

Sam sat painfully still, trying to move as little as possible, breathing shallow to lessen the pain. Absolute relief at seeing Dean threatened to undo him, send him under.

"Stay with me, little brother." Dean tipped Sam's head back and nodded when pain glazed, hazel eyes met his, watching as he bent to tape gauze over his exposed rib. Dean worked quickly, trying to cause as little pain as possible but when he tried to cover the skinned area on his chest, Sam hissed in a breath, shooting out a hand to grip his shoulder painfully.

"Don't! Please!" Sam panted for air, eyes squeezed shut against the stabs of agony pushing through him.

"Okay, Sam. Ok." Dean seethed with the need to make the ghost pay but he kept his hands gentle. He moved instead to the stab wound, then the gash in his bicep. He replaced the hasty tourniquet with a pressure bandage then dug Sam's jeans and boots from the bag. Sam gave him a grateful, if embarrassed look as Dean dressed him. He didn't have a shirt but in this heat, Sam didn't need one.

A sudden clamor of noise from above froze them both. "Time's up." Dean said. "Hang on to me." He got his arms under Sam's shoulders and stood him up.

Sam's vision tunneled quickly in pain. Only Dean's voice in his ear encouraging him, kept him upright and moving; That and the desperate need to be out of that cellar. A gallon or so of water wouldn't hurt either he thought, he was so parched.

Dean was more or less supporting all Sam's weight with the arm behind his chest, under his shoulders. It was maddening for him that there was no way for him to help his brother without hurting him. More disturbing was the dry, papery feel of Sam's skin and the heat he felt coming off him. He was obviously dehydrated and somewhere in the middle of heat exhaustion because of it. He kicked himself for not thinking of water as he eased Sam up the last few steps and outside.

"Not much longer, Sam." Dean promised.

Sam pointed a trembling arm. "There. That has…to be his…g-grave." Some twenty yards away near the wall was a crumbled stone cross. It looked as though it had been maliciously broken. Native American protection symbols had been painted onto what was left of it at some point in the past.

The sound of slamming doors, crashing timbers and a howling wind chased them as they hobbled toward the wall. Dean eased Sam to the ground, back against the wall and thankfully in its shadow.

"Gimme the shotgun." Sam said, working hard to sound stronger than he felt. "I'll watch your back."

Dean passed him the gun without argument and pulled a collapsible shovel from the bag as he set it down beside Sam. The Fort went silent as Dean struck the first shovel of earth. "Ah crap." Dean said with feeling. He dug at a frantic pace, checking on Sam each time the shovel rose.

Sam anchored himself with the solid feel of the shotgun in his hands. He wouldn't allow himself the luxury of passing out while Dean needed protecting. Breathing was becoming harder as each minute ticked by and the sudden silence from the Fort around them was jarring his nerves. He blinked a long slow blink and when his eyes opened it was too find the ghost of Doctor Lemke standing before him. No longer confined in the rotting body, it was truly his spirit this time. Sam could see Dean through him still shoveling. The Doctor's visage was not made better to Sam's mind by seeing him as himself. His face held a quality that screamed insanity and misplaced fervor. His eyes were cruel and hard as they fixed on Sam.

Sam raised the barrel of the shotgun, opened his mouth to warn Dean and felt an unseen force shove him back against the sod wall and stop his breath in his throat, silencing him.

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_To be continued…_


	6. Chapter 6

**Title:** What's up Doc?

**Author**: Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** Takes place directly after s1e09 "Home" Some hurt!sam with a sprinkling of hurt!dean, some limp action.

**Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P**

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_**CHAPTER 6**_

Sam tried in vain to suck in a breath. The Doctor stood over him smiling in victory. He saw Dean's head appear through the opaque legs, his brothers' eyes going wide.

"Sam!"

Sam still held the shotgun, had kept the barrel from dropping to his lap and reflexively pulled the trigger as he felt his oxygen starved body losing the battle.  
>Dean heard the click of the trigger a second before Sam fired and dropped back into the grave. Rock salt sailed just above his head. He leaped back up to see the Doctor gone again and his brother slowly toppling to his side, mouth wide and gasping for air.<p>

When he would have climbed out to go check on him, Sam waved a weak hand to say 'don't stop. Finish it.' Dean scowled but dropped back down knowing Sam was right. He was nearly there. Dean took up the shovel again and minutes later the shovel clanged on the top of a coffin. He crashed through the rotted timbers with the shovel blade, pulling them up to reveal the remains of one dead Surgeon.

Now he did climb out. Dean opened the bag next to Sam, one eye on his struggling brother, one wary of the spirits' return. He dashed back to the grave, salt can in one hand, lighter fluid in the other and dumped both down into the hole, covering the bones. When he was satisfied, he pulled a matchbook out of his pocket and lit it.

He held it over the grave and dropped it in with relish. Somewhere in the Fort, he heard the final scream of an angry ghost and grinned' satisfied. "Burn in hell you sick bastard." The flames leaped about in the hole and Dean left them to do their work.

"Sammy?" Dean eased a hand under his brothers head and his arm around his back and got him sitting up again. "You ok?"

Sam snorted softly, looking up at Dean with red rimmed eyes. "No. Idiot." He gave a laugh that ended in a pained moan. "Ow…ow…god."

"Okay, I think you're going to the hospital." Dean grabbed up the bag and then worked at getting Sam to his feet.

"Don'wanna." Sam muttered, eyes closed.

"Tough titty." Dean grimaced, pulling Sam along with him in a drunken stumble. Sam struggled to stay upright. Every movement burned pain through him, his head was swimming and he was so thirsty.

"Almost there." Dean soothed. The ghost gone, worry was consuming him again. Fresh blood was beginning to flow from Sam's shoulder and he could hear the labored breaths as he tried to breathe around the broken rib. They walked under the gate and this time it stayed quiet above and Dean sighed in relief.

"Here we go, Sammy." Dean leaned him against the side of the Impala and cursed when Sam's knees started to buckle. Sam took hold of Dean's shirt as he was wedged between the car and Dean's chest. Dean opened the door and folded Sam carefully into the passenger seat. He was nearly unconscious and his head rolled to rest against the window as Dean shut the door. He ran to the other side and peeled away from the Fort in another cloud of red dust.

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Sam floated up from the bottom of the dark hole he'd been in. Expecting pain, he was surprised to feel little but a sheen of sweat covering him. A familiar hand rested on his forehead and he squinted eyes open to see his brother's relieved face above him.

"Hey Sasquatch." Dean said softly and smiled. Sam had thrashed himself out of a nightmare. The sounds he'd made told Dean he was reliving his time at the Fort. He smoothed Sam's dark hair back from his face. "How you feeling?"

"Floaty." Sam said and smirked when Dean laughed. He looked around and saw he was in a hospital room. A scratchy sheet was pulled up to his chest, various monitors attached to him and he frowned when he had trouble raising his arm to push the irritating tube out from under his nose.

"Don't Sammy." Dean pushed his hand back down. "Leave it. You need that a while yet." The laundry list of injuries the Doctor had rattle off at him had made him go cold. The Doctor himself had been pale when describing the clear human scratch marks inside Sam's chest on the exposed rib.

"It'sam. Why'm'I so floaty?" Sam slurred, eyes closing.

"They gotcha on the good drugs." Dean rested a hand lightly on Sam's shoulder. They'd dosed him with morphine hoping to numb the pain of the six inch long, inch wide place where his skin had been ripped away. The wound was covered now, protecting the artificial skin graft they'd put over it. "Go back to sleep. I'll be right here."

Sam smiled and nodded and drifted back off, his breathing evening out. The local police had been and gone. Dean told them he and his brother were visiting the Fort and had been attacked. The Detectives had been surprised to learn there'd been an apparent serial killer operating just outside their town. They'd left, promising to come back with more questions after a search of the Fort. Dean wondered if Sam would be strong enough to leave before then. It didn't matter that for once the mess wasn't theirs to clean up; talking to any cops with his brother so out of it made him nervous. He'd just assume skip town.

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They spent another two days in the hospital when Sam spiked a fever from infection and Dean had to make nice with the Detectives when they returned. He'd spent both days at Sam's side, keeping him calm. Each time Dean stepped away, Sam somehow knew and would panic in his fevered state. It was a nerve wracking forty eight hours with a delirious Sam and ice baths to lower his temperature that hurt Dean almost as much as they hurt Sam.

Dean stumbled exhausted out of the bathroom in their motel room and went to check on Sam, stepping carefully over the salt line in the bathroom door. He'd decided not to take any more chances after losing Sam out of the damn room while he slept.

Sam lay quietly in his bed on his back, one hand protectively over his ribs. He was a mass of bandages from the waist up. Dean laid a hand on the bend of his neck, happy to feel a normal temperature rather than the burning warmth of only the day before. He sat on the side of his bed and allowed himself a moment to simply fall apart. It had been a very long time since he'd seen his little brother that hurt and he felt as though he had failed in some tangible way in his job of protector. He looked over at Sam again and made himself take a deep breath. He wondered what their Dad would say and for a moment, almost picked up his phone to call him. Dean shook his head. He didn't think he could handle hearing the recorded message just then.

He flopped back onto his bed and swung his legs up then just stared up at the ceiling letting the worry of the last few days slip away. Dean pictured the bonfire of the Doctors bones and smiled; Job well done. Then he frowned and pushed himself up in the bed. He had the distinct feeling he'd missed something but couldn't put his finger on what. The bones had burned, the ghost had been dealt with and Sam was safe. "Dammit." He said softly and slid back down, pulling the blankets over him. Whatever it was nagged at him as he drifted into a much needed, fitful sleep.

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Dean woke suddenly and whipped his head over to find Sam's bed empty. He leaped out of the bed, hearing the shower running and ran to the bathroom. The nightmare of waking once again to find Sam gone ripped through him. He jerked the door open and ran to the shower, tearing the curtain back.

"What the hell, Dean?" Sam shouted. He had a head of soapy hair and stood with one arm braced against the shower wall.

"Oh…um." Dean grinned sheepishly and pulled the curtain back. "I was just…checking. Sorry." He backed to the door while Sam spluttered. The panic vanished to be replaced by embarrassment and the intense need to wipe the image of his naked brother out of his mind.

"Dude, can I finish alone or do you wanna scrub my back?" Sam called.

"Aw Sammy that is just wrong!" Dean groaned and slammed the bathroom door shut on his little brothers' laugh. "Awesome." He rolled his eyes at himself and flopped back down on his bed. "What is _wrong_ with me?"

Sam came out of the shower a little while later and found Dean sitting on the side of his bed, head in his hands. He gave his jeans a tug up on his hips and tossed his shirt, not interested in putting it on over his wounded chest just then. Sam wobbled weakly over to his own bed and lowered himself painfully down. The shower had taken most of whatever energy he had when he'd woken but he'd felt the intense need to be clean of the hospital and of the last vestiges of that damned fort clinging to his skin.

"Dean?" Sam tapped the top of his brothers' head. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Sorry." Dean looked up and gave him a lopsided smile. "Guess I just freaked a little." He got up and grabbed the first aid kit and brought it back. "Let me redress that stuff for you."

"I can do it." Sam protested at being babied and Dean slapped his hand away.

"Dude your hands are shaking like a virgin at prom. Stop bitchin."

Sam sighed and laid back. The truth was he _was_ feeling that weak, though he wouldn't admit it, and groaned with relief when his head hit the pillow again. Dean was quick and careful, causing as little pain as he could. The skinned area of Sam's chest was still incredibly sensitive and he balled his fists in the sheets while Dean covered it.

"Easy, Sammy." Dean smoothed a hand over his brothers' forehead as a light sweat broke out. "Almost done."

"I'm good." Sam managed breathlessly. He let a long breath out in relief when Dean sat back and patted his shoulder.

"Yeah you look good." Dean smirked. He took the first aid kit back to the table and dropped the used bandages into the trash can. He stood there, staring down at the pile of crumpled bandages in the bottom of the can while something nagged at the back of his mind again.

Sam looked over and frowned, Dean was standing, staring down at something. "Dean?"

"Son of a bitch!" Dean shouted, throwing his arms out in frustration and turned back to Sam. "I missed it. I freakin' missed it! Dammit!"

"Dean, what's wrong?" Sam made himself sit up as Dean paced across the room and back. "What did you miss? Calm down man."

Instead, Dean grabbed the weapons bag from under his bed. "The skull. It's been driving me crazy this whole time. There was no skull in the grave, Sammy." He stopped then and turned worried and angry eyes to his little brother. Sam's face paled as he watched. "I'm sorry, man. I missed it. I was so preoccupied getting you out of there it didn't register til right now." He kicked the bed in a fit of temper, angry with himself.

"OK." Sam forced calm on himself, pushing away the fear that threatened to rise up and choke him. "Are you sure? I mean, it stopped when you did the salt and burn. Maybe you just didn't see it."

"No. No it wasn't there. I tore the whole lid off that box man. There was no skull and that means that sick bastard is still out there." Dean did sit finally. "He played us."

"Then we need to find the skull." Sam took his shirt from the foot of his bed and shrugged carefully into it, grimacing.

"We nothing. You're out of this." Dean said fiercely.

"Get a grip." Sam smiled, trying to reassure his shaken brother. "I'm fine, Dean. I mean, I'm not wrestling a gator anytime soon but I'm good." Sam clapped a hand on Dean's shoulder as he passed, going to the table and his laptop. He sat carefully, hoping the level of exhaustion he felt didn't show on his face while Dean watched him. "If the skull wasn't there and the coffin was intact?" He raised his brows and Dean nodded. "Then it never got buried with the rest of him. We need to find someone who'd know what happened back then."

"What? You got a blue police box hiding around here somewhere?" Dean snarked, finding his calm. "Can't exactly go back in time and ask."

Sam chuckled. "No, but the Pawnee might know. I mean, they were the ones he was taking apart back then. I wouldn't be surprised if one of them did something with his skull. Remember the signs painted on his headstone?"

"Indians. Awesome." Dean shook his head. "What the hell ever happened to a simple salt and burn?"

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_**Author's note:**__ So, I _was_ going to end this story here with this chapter. My Muse however, who has been quietly playing Monkeys in a Barrel with herself in the corner for a week slapped me up the back of the head and said "What the hell, Kaz? You realize you're about to finish this without exploring a whole facet of the story YOU set up in the first place? Idjit." She shook her head, went back to her Monkeys and flipped me off. So, I'll be extending this story…before she hurts me. :) More to come!_


	7. Chapter 7

**Title:** What's up Doc?

**Author**: Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** Takes place directly after s1e09 "Home" Some hurt!sam with a sprinkling of hurt!dean, some limp action.

**Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P**

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_**CHAPTER 7**_

Sam dozed in the Impala's front seat, head resting in its usual spot against the window. Dean stole glances at his sleeping brother's pale face and wondered again how he'd convinced him to come along. He snorted a laugh remembering the well-practiced puppy dog eyes Sam had used; a lethal weapon he'd made good use of since childhood.

"Bitch." Dean muttered at him and dug his sunglasses out of the glove box as the late afternoon sun glared into his face. They were heading to the only Pawnee Reservation in fifty miles. Sam had located it online. He'd been excited. A quick search of the history had shown the tribe was a remnant of the one that had suffered from Doctor Lemke's depredations.

Dean jumped when Sam moaned; shifting nervously in his sleep and caught in another replay he was sure. He put his hand around the back of Sam's neck and squeezed. It was the only place he could touch without causing more pain.

"Wake up, Sammy." Dean felt Sam stiffen under his hand and then relax. He rolled his head away from the window and Dean got both hands back on the wheel.

"Hey." Sam said, blinking tired eyes out at the road. He pushed himself up in the seat, swallowing a groan at the pain in his chest. Even his arms were sore. He felt the stitches in his right bicep pull as he rubbed his eyes.

"I hope these guys have some useful intel. We're almost there." Dean flipped the radio on now Sam was awake and turned up the volume, making Sam roll his eyes as Metallica pumped out at them. Dean grinned and rocked his head in time with the beat.

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The Pawnee Reservation looked like any other poor town in the Midwest. There was a meeting hall with peeling paint, a rundown gas station and small homes and trailers lining its few streets. People meandered along the walkways and around the large duck pond across from the hall. Trees lined most of the town, shading some of the harsh sun that beat down on the brown grass.

"That's it." Sam pointed at the meeting hall. They'd been met at the edge of the reservation by a Pawnee deputy. He told them they would find the chief in the Hall. Sam wished the sun would set. The heat was trickling sweat down his chest and making him twitch with discomfort.

Dean pulled the Impala up in front of the hall and was out and around to the passenger side as Sam opened the door. His little brother wasn't fooling him. Dean could see the tight lines around his eyes and the stiff, jerky movements.

"I don't need help." Sam argued as Dean reached in for him.

"Fine." Dean smiled, crossed his arms and stepped back a foot. He'd let Sam try it himself and be there to catch him.

Sam took hold of the door and pulled himself up quickly, trying to lessen the pain. He didn't count on the blood rushing from his head and would have toppled if not for the strong arm suddenly there supporting him.

"Shit." Sam said with feeling.

"Just give it a second." Dean said, hanging on to his swaying brother. He kept his teasing to himself. If Sams' closed eyes and washed out face were any indication, he wasn't up for it just then.

"You alright there?" An older man with long, silvered hair came out of the meeting hall and watched the brothers. "He doesn't look so good." He nodded at Sam.

"Yeah, no, we're fine." Dean scowled. "He's had a rough week."

"We're…we're looking for Chief Whitefeather." Sam said and pushed slowly up from Dean's shoulder. He had to do better than this or Dean would go after the Doctor's ghost without him. He wasn't going to let that happen.

"You've found him." Chief Whitefeather came forward and shook Dean's hand then Sam's. He held on to Sam's and looked in his eyes. "Come inside. You need to sit down." He turned and left them to follow.

"I'm fine." Sam said defensively and the Chief laughed, turning to look over his shoulder.

"You should be in a hospital I think."

Dean chuckled. "I think I like this guy."

"Shut up." Sam rolled eyes at them both and concentrated on getting up the stairs, unaware of his brother hovering behind him.

The inside of the Meeting Hall was completely at odds with its dilapidated exterior. Inside were warm wood floors, walls covered in handmade tapestries, Pawnee symbology and the soft glow of candles throughout as the sun outside finally began to set. Chief Whitefeather led them to the side and into a comfortable office with deep leather chairs.

"Sit." The Chief took Sam's arm and gently pushed him into one of the chairs. "I have a son like you." He went to an iron potbelly stove in the corner and took the steaming teapot from its surface. "He broke his leg and insisted he could walk just fine thank you…all the way to the ground."

Dean laughed and gave Sam a meaningful look.

"Like you're any better." Sam pointed a shaking finger at Dean.

"Hey, I'm not the walking wounded right now." Dean put his hands up.

"I could fix that." Sam threatened. Both boys startled when the Chief threw his head back in a full throated laugh.

"So you're brothers then." Whitefeather handed Sam a mug, shaking his head. "Drink it. My grandmothers' tea. Fixes everything or so she said."

Sam took a cautious sip and his eyes widened in appreciation. "It's wonderful."

"Yep." The Chief nodded.

"Chief Whitefeather…" Dean started.

"Call me Dave." Whitefeather smiled.

"Right. Dave. I'm Dean Winchester. This is my brother Sam. We had some questions for you."

"The good Doctor's ghost." Dave finished and smiled when both boys jaws dropped. "I'm the Chief but I'm also the Shaman for my People." He gestured at Sam. "I felt it when I touched his hand."

"Felt what?" Sam leaned back, curling his hands around the warm mug.

"The…taint of that thing. I can feel it." Dave nodded at Sam. "Keep drinking son."

"Well. We need help." Dean decided to be honest with the Chief since he already knew and accepted their ghost. "You're right, he had my brother for a night." Dean saw Sam shiver and went on. "We're Hunters. We salted and burned Doctor Mengele's bones but the skull wasn't there."

"We need to know if you know what happened to it." Sam finished and looked hopefully at Dave.

Chief Whitefeather smiled. "Been a while since I had Hunters here. You're not the first I've met. " He leaned against his desk in front of them. "It was my Great, great grandfather who removed the head." Dave sighed. "He thought he was doing the right thing."

"Please tell me you know what he did with it." Dean all but begged.

"I do. Over the years we've sent people, warriors, to the Fort to dig it up but… no one's ever made it back." Dave scowled darkly. "Even in death the Doctor can't resist taking my people." He reached out and rescued the mug from Sam as it tipped forward in his limp hands.

"Sammy?" Dean lurched from his chair, seeing his brothers head drop back, eyes closed.

"It's alright." Dave chuckled softly and waved Dean off. "The tea has numbed some of the pain. He's just fallen asleep."

Dean still placed a soft hand at Sam's throat and relaxed at the steady beat there and the even rise and fall of his chest.

"He needs more sleep." Dave motioned Dean out the door in the hall proper.

"Yeah." Dean agreed and stayed where he could see his brother through the open door. "Hard getting restful sleep when you hurt that much."

Chief Whitefeather nodded in sympathy. "My great, great grandfather took the head. He 'cleaned' it and painted protective symbols on the skull then buried it in the exact center of the Fort but…he made a mistake."

"Obviously." Dean said and raised a hand. "Sorry."

"No. It's alright." Dave smiled sadly. "He thought he was destroying the spirit but all he did was bind it to the earth of the Fort."

"Center of the Fort." Dean said. "Gonna be a race to find it before he's on us."

"You'll need GPS coordinates." Dave grinned at the look on his face. "Why do white men always think Native Americans are technophobes?"

Dean laughed, embarrassed and then frowned. His eyes went wide. "Oh crap!"

"What?" Dave asked and then jerked his head around at the sound of a loud crash from outside followed by several screams.

"The dirt!" Dean said and ran to wake Same. "He bound him to the damn earth in that Fort and my baby's covered in it! Sammy!" Dean shook his brother awake.

"What?" Sam jerked awake and stared up at his brother and Dave's scared faces.

"The ghost. He's here. Get up!" Dean said and pulled Sam up. Dean turned and ran for the entrance as more screams sounded. He burst outside, Sam and the Chief at his back, into chaos.

Streetlights lit the early evening darkness. Tendrils of red rust swirled around the Impala, rising up and out like the arms of an octopus. Two men lay unmoving on the ground, red staining the front of their shirts. People scattered through the street, some screaming, some simply trying to escape the terror.

"Sam stay here." Dean ordered and pushed him into the Chief. He sprinted for the car. The duck pond twinkled in the light of the lamps beyond the road and Dean's plan formed quickly. He had to get rid of the dirt clinging to the Impala. It was that cursed earth allowing the Doctor's spirit to rage here.

"Dean!" Sam shouted.

Dean spun back as he reached the driver side door and gasped. Some unseen force took hold of his brother and Chief Whitefeather and threw them back into the meeting hall, slamming the doors shut behind them.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean shouted, torn between running to his brother and doing what was needed. He gave a frustrated, inarticulate cry and threw himself into the car. He got the keys in the ignition, reached to close the door and felt his arm pulled viciously. Dean tumbled out of the car onto the cement and was slammed against the rear door. He grunted and slid to the ground, dazed. "Crap." He rolled to his knees and ducked away at an impact where his head had been. "You crazy bastard! You dented my baby? A dent!" He growled and pulled himself back into the driver's seat. He got the door closed this time and turned the keys. He listened to the engine roar to life and held on to the steering wheel with desperate hands. "Hang on, Sammy."

Dean backed out into the road and turned the car in a squeal of rubber on cement until he was facing the Pond. "I'm sorry, baby." He said in a tortured voice and rubbed the wheel. "I got no choice." He slammed the gas pedal to the floor as the car began to shake and she jumped forward, trailing lines of dust behind her.

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Sam cried out involuntarily as he crashed back into the hall, sliding on his back across the floor. Chief Whitefeather came to rest beside him with a grunt. The Chief pushed himself to his elbows, face hidden by a curtain of silver hair.

"I am getting…" Sam gasped as he rolled and got to his knees. "…tired of this."

"I was not finished." The disembodied voice breathed into the hall. The candles flickered and began going out across the hall. Chief Whitefeather froze reaching to help Sam up.

"Ah crap." Sam groaned. "This is not good."

Chief Whitefeather was picked off his feet and sent spinning against the wall. Sam felt a punch to his stomach as he stood and crumpled back to the wooden floor. Pain exploded through his chest and up into his head.

"Leave him be!" Dave Whitefeather shouted. He was pinned to the wall, struggling against the power that held him. A gurgled scream escaped his lips as a line of red appeared beneath his white shirt.

Sam got a hand into his jacket pocket. He sobbed a relieved breath and came out with a shotgun round loaded with rock salt. He pried the firing cap off the end and threw the salt at the shimmering, barely visible image of Doctor Lemke standing before the Chief. The spirit screamed its frustration and vanished. Dave slid to the floor, arms across his stomach.

"You okay?" Sam said past gritted teeth. He didn't get to hear the answer. The Doctor's spirit returned and shoved Sam over to his back. He felt the bandages beneath his shirt being torn away and shouted in pain. "Dammit Dean!" Sam tried to roll away from the shimmering hands reaching for him again. "Hurry up!"

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_To be continued…_


	8. Chapter 8

Title: What's up Doc?

Author: Disasteriffic Kaz

Info: Takes place directly after s1e09 "Home" Some hurt!sam with a sprinkling of hurt!dean, some limp action.

Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P

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_CHAPTER 8_

"Sam!" Chief Whitefeather scrambled to his feet and into his office. He grabbed up the salt shaker on his desk and ran back out to the prone Hunter. As he made to spray salt through the ghost, it howled and vanished leaving both men panting. Sam moaned and rolled to his side, curling his legs into his chest reflexively.

"Sam." The Chief dropped beside him and tried to straighten him out. Sam shook his head, eyes closed.

"Dean?" Sam whispered, trying not to expand his chest. Pain and exhaustion pulled at him, trying to drag him under. "See…see if he's ok. Please."

"He's fine, Sam." Dave laid a hand on the back of the boys head, offering what little comfort he could and cradled his other arm against his own wounded stomach. "He'll be here soon."

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Dean closed his eyes and braced himself against the seat as the Impala hit the water. The impact jerked him forward and slapped his head into the steering wheel. He kept his foot on the gas and powered through the shallow pond. The water rose in waves and crested over the car, washing the offending dust and dirt from her frame. Dean encouraged her on through the pond as they reached the other side.

"That's it, baby. Come on." Dean pleaded and heaved a breath of relief when they emerged on the opposite bank. He left her running and stumbled out the door to look. She was sparkling black against the backdrop of the pond, water sheeting from her classic lines. Three very pissed off ducks quacked loudly at him from the top of the trunk before returning to the pond.

"Oh bite me." Dean said to the ducks and patted the Impala's roof. "Good job, baby." The engine hiccuped, sputtered and with a last roar, died. "Oh no, no, no, no. Come on, Baby!" Dean got back in and turned her over to no effect. "Dammit." The engine had flooded. He wiped trickling blood from his eyes and found a small gash above his eye with his fingers.

"Great. I'll be back sweetheart." He patted the steering wheel and slid back out. Dean saw the mayhem seemed to have stopped. He groaned and started back around the pond, forcing his aching head to cooperate as he broke into a run back to the meeting hall and Sam.

Dean reached the hall, one hand on his head to keep the blood out of his eye and burst inside. "Sam!" Dean was instantly across the floor and at his brothers' side. Chief Whitefeather looked up at him and smiled.

"He wouldn't let me move him, just keeps asking for you." Dave looked at the blood on Dean's face and frowned. "I'll be right back." He stood stiffly and hobbled off.

"Sammy?" Dean ran a hand down the back of his brothers head. "Come on, Sam. I'm here." He got his other hand on Sam's side and swore loudly. His hand came away bloody.

"Dean." Sam groaned and turned his head under Dean's hand. "You're ok? He gone?"

"Hey, little brother. Yeah he's gone for now." Dean helped him when Sam tried to roll toward him and got his upper body off the floor and in his arms. "Dude, you gotta stop freaking me out like this."

"Sorry." Sam grimaced and let his head roll into Dean's shoulder. "Just gonna…close my eyes…for a sec." His voice trailed off and his body went lax now he knew Dean was safe and with him. Dean chuckled softly.

"Yeah, you do that." Dean settled Sam's back against his chest and sighed.

"Here." Chief Whitefeather returned and handed Dean a washcloth. "Clean that off." He gestured to his head and then set a medical kit on the floor beside Sam. He peeled Sam's blood stained shirt up his chest and hissed in a breath. "Well, good news is I don't think the ghost did anything new. Just popped a few stitches." He took away the crumpled bandages and started cleaning the blood.

"Lemme guess." Dean wiped his face clean and set the rag aside. "You're the resident nurse around here too?"

Dave laughed lightly. "Chief, Shaman and fixer of booboos."

Dean snorted. "Oh man I am so using that when he wakes up." It made him nervous on a visceral level to watch someone else tending his brother but he trusted the Chief. He settled Sam more securely against his chest and watched. Sam shifted slightly and Dean held him still. "Hey, Sam?" He asked in Sam's ear. "Don't try to move yet."

Chief Whitefeather had cleaned the wounds for which Sam had mercifully stayed out. He set a new bandage over the stitches on Sam's rib, making him moan and try to twitch away. "How long did that sadistic spirit have him?"

"Too long." Dean replied. He looked down as Dave was placing the last bandage and saw Sam looked to have passed out again. "Sam? Sammy. Time to come back now."

Sam blinked his eyes open and groaned. "Why am I always waking up…on the floor lately?"

Dean laughed. "Winchester luck, little brother. Hold still."

Sam worked hard not to squirm and closed his eyes in relief when the Chief finished. "Thanks." He said and thumped the muscular arm across his upper chest. "Can I get up now?"

"I'm still thinking about it." Dean said seriously. The crisis past, his head was beginning to pound and adrenaline was seeping away leaving him longing for a bed. Dean's eyes sagged shut on their own. He dropped his forehead to the top of Sam's head in a daze.

Dean didn't realize he'd fallen asleep until he felt Sam being pulled from his arms. He fought it, his mind stuck somewhere back at the Fort. He tightened his arms around his little brother.

"Dean? Dean it's alright. Let go."

It took Dean several moments to comprehend where he was, that it was Chief Whitefeather speaking and they were safe.

"Dean, let him go. We're trying to help." The Chief's voice soothed and he felt hands under his arms. "You're safe."

Dean felt Sam's hair against his face and rocked his head back. A hand was there to support it at the back of his neck.

"Easy, Dean." Chief Whitefeather propped him up while his men extricated Sam and carried him toward the back of the Hall. "You're concussed."

"Yeah. I got that." Dean groaned and got his eyes open. His head was crashing and pounding, tossing stars across his vision. He saw two men carrying Sam away and flinched again, wanting to stop them.

"Up you go." Dave and another man in nurse scrubs lifted Dean to his feet. They supported him when his legs went to Jello and followed the men with his brother. Dean sighed in relief and his head dropped forward again.

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Dean woke slowly and swatted at the itch on his nose. It came back and he slapped at it again. A familiar snickering laugh made him open his eyes. He scowled at Sam sitting on the side of his bed with a long twig as he reached for Dean's nose again.

"Dude, are you five?" Dean groused and slapped his hand away. Sam laughed.

"I got bored waiting for you to wake up." Sam eased off the bed to stand. He was moving much better Dean noticed.

"How long was I out?" Dean wondered and sat up.

"It's tomorrow." Sam laughed at the shock on his big brothers face. "Dave said to let you sleep it out."

Dean swung his legs to the floor and gave his head a test shake, pleased when nothing rattled. Then the night before came back to him. His eyes widened. His jaw dropped and his face paled.

"Dean?" Sam grabbed his shoulders, scared at the sudden shock on Dean's face. "Dean! What's wrong?"

"Oh my god." Dean stared up at Sam and then shot from the bed and out of the room.

"Dean!" Sam chased after him, certain something horrible was wrong. He shrugged at Chief Whitefeather as they ran past and burst through the doors outside only to pull up in a skid. "I should have known." Sam groaned and slapped his head into his hand.

In the afternoon sun, his fierce, kick-ass, no chick flick moments big brother was caressing the sleek, black body of the Impala and crooning apologies to her.

The Chief stopped beside Sam and laughed. "I had her towed over here last night. My brother got her running again."

Sam had heard the story of how Dean had kamikazi'd the Chevy into the duck pond to the save the town and subsequently killed the engine.

"You know…" Dave nodded at Dean and his baby. "When you pour enough love for long enough into something be it a house or even…a car, they can gain a presence of their own."

Sam raised surprised brows. "And?"

"That car? She loves you boys." Chief Whitefeather grinned at Sam's shock and went to talk to Dean as the Impala's engine rumbled to life. Sam watched Dean grinning like a kid at Christmas in the driver seat, studied the car that had been home all his life and smiled.

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The boys stayed one more night at the Reservation enjoying Chief Whitefeather's hospitality and his help finding the exact location of the Doctor's skull. They were where they belonged now, in the Impala and on the hunt.

"Think these will work?" Dean glanced at the new bracelet on his right wrist. It was leather and some sort of metal woven into it, cured in holy water and salt and had various Pawnee protective symbols etched into the surface.

"Dave thinks so." Sam shrugged and squinted as the sun began to creep above the horizon as they sped toward the Fort. "He said they should give us some temporary protection. Won't last long though."

"Awesome." Dean flexed his hands on the steering wheel and spent a moment just listening to the engine purr. "How you feeling?"

"Better. I'm good." Sam smiled reassuringly. "I can do this."

Dean gave him a calculating look and nodded. "I know you can." Sam was moving a lot better after the Chief's poultices and the various teas he'd made Sam drink. He'd given some to Dean as well. He'd drunk them under protest and stubbornly refused to admit how well they cleared his head. Dean played with the bracelet again and hoped it would work as advertised.

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The sun blazed high overhead. The noonday heat lent an unreal shimmer to the land and Fort Atkinson as Dean parked the Impala outside the gate. He and Sam got out and went to the trunk. They each took shovels and a bag already loaded with what they'd need. Dean handed Sam the shotgun and looked up as he shut the trunk. Looming on the horizon was a long line of ominous dark clouds.

"Looks like mother nature's thinking about breaking this damn heat wave." Dean commented.

"Wish she'd hurry the hell up." Sam said softly. Dean looked over and frowned. Sam was staring at the Fort, absently rubbing a hand across his chest.

"Sammy?" Dean bumped his shoulder with his own. "Head in the game, man." He didn't want to but they'd sit out another day if Sam needed it.

Sam shook himself and smiled tightly. "I'm ok. Let's go." To prove it, Sam led the way under the gate. Dean nodded, proud.

"That's my boy." He murmured and followed.

Sam took his phone out of his back pocket and cued up the GPS. "This way." Sam walked quickly, the comforting presence of Dean at his back kept him calm despite the flashes of his time in the cellar that rose up to haunt him. Sam's phone chirped and he stopped, tucking it away. They stood in the center of the wide open space within the fort. "This is it." He and Dean dropped their bags and hefted the shovels.

"Game on." Dean said with a grin and dug his shovel in near Sam's feet.

They dug for ten minutes with no sign of the spirit. Sweat poured from both men and they were bare chested beneath the sun, Sam's chest and shoulders wrapped in bandages. Just as they thought they would get to the salt and burn unmolested, a howl went up from the surgery at the far end of the fort.

"We've been made." Sam panted and dug harder, ignoring the burning of his wounds. A wind picked up, either from the oncoming storm or the deceased and incensed Doctor, and whipped about Sam and Dean bringing brief respites from the heat. Dean looked up and wiped sweat from his brow.

"Shit!" Dean exclaimed. He dropped the shovel and grabbed up the shotgun, aiming at the specter that appeared above Sam.

Sam whirled; shovel raised and then looked at Dean. "Dude! You gonna shoot him or not?"

Dean shrugged and gave Doctor Lemke a face full of rock salt with a grin. "Bracelets are working. He didn't touch us!"

Sam's eyes widened and he smiled. "You watch for Caspar and I'll find the skull?"

Dean nodded and climbed up, shotgun in hand. "This is gonna be a lot easier now he can't jump us." He said with happy smile.

The Doctor however had other ideas. The wind increased as the storm clouds crawled overhead and began to block the sun. The temperature dropped a few degrees and Dean grunted when a piece of timber banged into his shoulder from behind.

"What the hell?" Dean exclaimed. He ducked as another piece of wood arrowed toward him. "Stay down and keep digging!" He yelled when Sam's head popped up. Dean watched as the roof of the jail shook and several tiles lifted into the air, hovered and then aimed straight for him. "Crap."

Sam dug furiously. It was clear that since the Doctor couldn't touch them himself, he was using whatever he could get his spirit hands on and hurling it at them. He dropped to his knees as roof tiles rained into the hole. Dean yelped above him.

"Dean?" Sam called.

"I'm ok!" Dean yelled back over the wind. "Find the damn skull!" Dean grunted again as a substantial piece of siding plowed into his knees and took him down. "Son of a bitch."

Sam shook the roof tiles off and drove the shovel into the ground again. This time, he hit something. He felt the thunk through the handle and dropped to his knees. Using his hands he dug, not wanting to risk shattering it and having to go through all this again. He heard the shotgun fire twice and Dean's cursing and tuned it out, focused on getting the skull out. His efforts were rewarded. Sam got his long fingers down in the now loose dirt and wrapped them around, bringing it out into the air. It was stained red from so many decades in the earth and covered in old Pawnee symbols.

"Dean! I got it!" Sam shouted up. He stood and tossed the skull up then gripped the sides of the hole and jumped. He lay half in, half out of the hole and felt something warm at his wrist. Sam looked as the heat continued to build and watched as the Pawnee bracelet slowly began to crumble. "Dammit not now!" He scrambled out and grabbed the skull again, reaching for the bag.

Dean knelt on the ground, face pained and held his own wrist up, watching the demise of the bracelet. "Hurry up, Sammy!"

Sam pulled the salt from the bag and liberally covered the skull before dousing it in lighter fluid. He was digging for the matches when he saw legs materialize in front of him. "DEAN!" The shotgun blasted and the legs vanished. Sam heaved a breath and dug desperately for the matches.

Dean stayed on his knees, unable to stand up for the pain in the back of his legs. He quickly reloaded the shotgun and threw himself backward as the Doctor appeared before him. He snapped the barrel shut and raised the gun. He looked over when Sam shouted and saw a fire flickering before him in the wind.

"Time's up, jackass!" Dean said to Doctor Lemke and smiled at him.

"NOooooo!" The ghost screamed, lunging through Dean and toward Sam. He never made it. The purifying fire did it's work and the Doctor was engulfed in flames to disappear for good.

Dean dropped onto his back, staring up at the sky and heaved a breath. "Nice timing, Sam!"

Sam crawled over to his brother and sat next to him. "Thanks." He held an arm protectively across his chest.

"He get you?" Dean dragged himself back to his knees and Sam shook his head with a weary smile.

"Did it to myself getting out of the pit."

Dean chuckled and then moaned in pleasure when fat raindrops started to fall. They were cool and felt heavenly on his sun burned skin. "Suppose we oughtta get out of here."

"Probably." Sam pulled their bag over and shoved the shotgun and shovels in before tossing the strap over his bare shoulder.

"Dude. Dammit you pulled more stitches." Dean chuckled and gestured at the spots of blood on Sam's bandages.

"Ah hell." Sam groaned and stood. He reached down and pulled on Dean's arm to get him up.

Dean hissed between his teeth. He figured the backs of his legs were going to be real pretty for a while from the way they felt. He leaned into Sam. Sam leaned on him and together they began the slow stumble back to the car.

"You're driving." Dean said and chuckled. "Don't think I can work the damn pedals right now."

Sam snorted. "Damn it must be bad for you to give up the wheel." He got his heavily limping brother to the passenger door and helped in then went round to the trunk, opened it and tossed in the bag. Sam wrapped both arms around his chest as he went to the driver's side and got in. "Hope Chief Whitefeather's up for some more company."

Dean laughed. "He's gonna pour more tea down your throat."

Sam flipped on the radio to an easy listening station and cranked the volume, knowing it would make Dean twitch.

"No way, Dude. We are NOT listening to this all the way back to the Res." Dean reached over to change the station and stared in shock when his baby brother slapped his hand away.

Sam revved the engine and shot the Impala away from the Fort before giving his brother an evil grin. "Driver picks the music." He said slowly and grinned even wider as Dean's face went red. "Shotgun…shuts his cakehole."

_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_

_**The End!**_


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